Patience in all Things
by Mari83
Summary: A Bling story: His thoughts on Logan, Max and just S1 in general. CHAPTER 4: Bling's perspective on finding Logan with the video of the shooting in 'Red'.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Dark Angel.

**A/N:** Originally this was meant to be only a few Bling-thoughts on S1… but it stretched out a bit and now also touches the time before the Pilot.

All hints at Bling's past and background – here especially his connection to Logan's bodyguard Peter – are gratefully borrowed from Shywr1ter's (by now nearly Bling-canon:-) story "Still Waters".

Big thanks to Shywr1ter for betaing, suggestions and very patiently answering my nitpicky questions.

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Something about Logan Cale intrigued Bling. From the very beginning the man had sparked this same curiosity with people that had led him to his job as a physical therapist where empathic observation and psychological knowledge often were more important than medical facts.

Even when Logan was barely more than a stranger, only one person among many in Eyes Only's ambitious project, Bling had found himself observing him, unable to quite figure out what it was about the guy that somehow set him apart from the rest.

They met on his second job for Eyes Only, when Peter called him over to a tall, slender man whose blond, spiky head, formerly concentrated on three different laptops, went up with a warm smile as Peter introduced him as Logan Cale, journalist and Eyes Only's computer wizard. Offering his hand with a serene smile of his own, Bling quietly took in Cale's handsome face and intelligent eyes, curious about what this man had done to deserve the unmistakable respect in Peter's voice.

Just for a few seconds, as their hands connected in a firm shake, their eyes met, sharing the depressing knowledge that they were part of a small minority, fighting for the same ideals. Then though, in unexpected, puzzling abruptness, Logan averted his gaze, avoiding any further eye contact as he shifted his attention back to the surveillance tapes his monitors displayed.

On all his missions for the informant net Bling kept a close eye on his surroundings, the former SEAL in him wanting to be prepared if the situation got risky – but he also was curious to see who those people were that Eyes Only had gathered around him. Most of them were fairly easy to figure out: There was the random cop or city employee who tried to make up at night for the damage his corrupted colleagues caused throughout the day, the father who had lost a child to the city's inability to provide clean water or the little shop-owner wanting to make his neighborhood a place where children could play safely.

Cale's motives, however, weren't that obvious. This didn't seem to be his fight, not with his name, recognizable for its connection with one of Seattle's richest and influential families. And yet… something must have happened to this wealthy journalist that kept him from writing about golf and wine and traveling…It was this irregularity, Logan's choosing another way of living than anticipated, that gripped Bling's interest first. Why didn't Cale enjoy a life of leisure away from the ugliness of the Post Pulse world? What drove him to spend his nights in the clammy cold of Seattle's streets?

Bling knew that he wasn't the only one to whom Logan's clear commitment remained an unknown. He had noted how the voices of some of the others took on a reserved, sometimes even questioning tone when the conversation came around to Cale. Those doubts never were uttered in Logan's presence…but Bling had been around often enough to note that for one or two of Eyes Only's crew, the journalist wasn't much more than a spoiled rich kid who was out here for a little thrill and an escape from his boring life, handy to have on their side with all his connections and gadgets, but not really one of them, either. Bling, however, found it hard to minimize Logan's participation to such a simple cliché. Unlike those who were quick with their judgment, he saw the idealism in Logan's eyes, noticed the focused intensity and single-minded determination tinting his voice the few times he spoke up, or the impatient frustration when he tried and failed to hack his way through some security system. Bling had marked how Logan never shared details from his personal life and only occasionally joined the joking and chatting of the others, seeming to consider such diversions a waste of time.

There seemed to be more behind the quiet intelligence and lonely seriousness of Cale's journalist-persona, and with every new mission this mysterious something challenged Bling, fueling his curiosity for an hour or two before each went back to his respecting life, connected only by their occasional work for the informant net.

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Then came the day when Eyes Only's plan to bring down Edgar Sonrisa's drug-syndicate ended with the death of one man and perilous injuries to another, with a little girl enduring the horror of a kidnapping and a mother going crazy with the fear of losing her child to her husband's murderer.

The former SEAL in Bling had known all along that something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. If you went up against such mighty opponents they inevitably would seek revenge – and then even the best security and most careful precautions couldn't prevent a mission from turning into a nightmare. Victims were a logical outcome, something one just had to expect.

However, despite all his statistical knowledge and military training, Bling hadn't expected that this shooting would change his own life in such a drastic way. He hadn't been prepared to see his best friend get killed by a bullet, not once they had left the navy, nor counted on finding out that the other victim was Eyes Only, whose death could mean the end to so much more than just his own life. Least of all, he hadn't expected Eyes Only to be Logan Cale.

Bling had always refused to participate in the gossip about who might be behind the blue-white mask, repeatedly reminding the others that the anonymity of their leader was crucial for the survival of the movement. Any knowledge about his identity, even if it came from harmless rumors, menaced the whole mission.

But even if he had joined the guessing, he wouldn't have put his bet on Cale being the big leader. Despite Cale's intriguing personality, Bling wouldn't have suspected this quiet, inconspicuous journalist to have a bigger part in the organization. For only a moment, a flicker of surprise at learning the true identity of Eyes Only replaced the shock of Peter' death, now mingling with the sickening grief of losing an old friend. Logan Cale indeed was Seattle's most famous urban myth… and now he was his patient.

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In the weeks that followed the shooting, Bling got a first hand look at the all the intricate thoughts, idealistic motives and hapless circumstances forming Logan Cale….and coining Eyes Only. Almost none of his new knowledge came from Logan himself, who, unlike many other patients facing such a life-changing injury, didn't feel the need to entrust his therapist with his life-story. Quite contrary, Logan was as tight-lipped as ever with everything concerning his life or feelings… only now, hopelessness, defeat and melancholic vulnerability had conquered the place of idealistic optimism.

A few, raw facts were all he managed to elicit from Logan as, wondering and worrying about the complete absence of visitors so far, Bling started asking if maybe he wanted anybody to be informed about his hospital stay – parents, a wife or girlfriend, relatives or friends.

All he got was an emotionless 'no' that left no room for discussion. In the hope that Logan just needed a bit of encouragement with the challenging task of confronting people with his injury, Bling tried again, prodding his patient if there really was _nobody_ at all. It wasn't before his fourth attempt a few days later that he finally got an answer. As he fixed his trainer with a cold, defensive stare, Logan spilled out a single, rushed sentence, calmly informing Bling that his parents were dead and that his closest relatives were the family of his uncle, Jonas Cale, who shouldn't be bothered, just like his ex-wife, who had her own problems anyway. Then his gaze dropped on the clean, white sheets, stubbornly refusing to look up again and be baited into any further personal admission. He avoided meeting Bling's serene gaze, and so he missed the short flicker of empathy softening the eyes of his PT, in an expression so unquestionably genuine that not even someone as touchy as Logan might have misread it as patronizing pity. This subtle reaction was all Bling allowed himself at the unsurprising revelation that Logan fell in the unfortunate category of those who preferred to face a difficult time alone, rather than together with friends or relatives that didn't promise any support at all.

As much as Bling had hoped for some external encouragement to help with Logan's therapy, normally, Logan's wish for privacy would have been respected. However, in the case of his aunt and uncle it was already too late. Not even waiting until Logan woke up from the first surgery, Dr. Carr had ordered one of the nurses to call them and ask about their blood type in case Logan would need another, sudden surgery – a wise move given Logan's rare blood-type and the overall scarcity of blood reserves.

The Cales had known right away that their nephew had been severely injured in that spectacular shooting repeated in the news all day, had been told soon after that Logan was in ICU, with a severed spinal cord, his survival uncertain – and still, despite news that would send most families rushing to the hospital, Logan's relatives hadn't found it necessary even to visit. Their absence in that first critical week after the shooting, when Logan awoke from anesthesia to fight pain and confusion along with a bleak diagnosis, had told Bling all he needed to know about Logan's family.

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His aunt and uncle finally turned up, at week three after injury, probably figuring it had been a safe amount of time to spare them the picture of Logan hooked up to machines and monitors that would remind them too much of their responsibilities.

It seemed to be dutiful politeness that led the expensively-clad couple to Metro Medical's neurological station where they approached Bling – marked by his nametag as an employee – to curtly demand the whereabouts of Mr. Cale. Refusing to be intimidated by the bossy air of the man nor by the exotic flower arrangement his wife held in front of her like a shield from the accumulated illness around her, he led both to Logan's room, gesturing for them to wait as he cautiously peeked through the door and announced the visitors. In the few seconds passing between Bling's words and the appearance of the Cales in the doorframe, Logan's expression changed from mild surprise at the prospect of a visit to a brief display of cornered unease, poorly hidden under a polite smile.

Bling had left the three alone…but, as his irritation about the lack of comfort on both sides turned into concern for Logan, he didn't go further than to the corridor, protectively pondering if he should interrupt a visit from people who triggered such clear discomfort from his usually so withdrawn patient.

An interruption hadn't been necessary. After barely 10 minutes the couple had left, their expressions speaking equally of anger, self-righteousness… and even embarrassment – all emotions which had been strangely mirrored in Logan's face, together with just a faint trace of hurt and disappointment, when Bling looked after him an instant later.

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Then there was Logan's apartment, located in the fortunate part of Seattle, where cardboard shacks and rat-infested apartments were an unknown. Upon entering the spacious penthouse for the first time, alone and outfitted by Logan with the keys, Bling had felt as if he had stepped into a world where the Pulse had never happened, where goods still were available in abundance and nobody worried about curfew and sector cops.

Bling wasn't one to judge people by the state of their bank account or the price of their furniture – and yet, here in the immaculate surroundings of Logan's apartment, he found himself caught in a short moment of simple amazement at this place that seemed so far away from the rest of Seattle, where people were grateful for a simple meal and a modest shelter.

It just wasn't what he had Eyes Only's expected place to be, Bling ruefully admitted to himself as his eyes wandered over the various pieces of artwork decorating walls and side-tables. A quick, cynical smirk effectively dismissed those thoughts, creasing his ever-composed expression, as he berated himself for suddenly being so rash to expect _anything_, least of all that Eyes Only led the life of an ascetic, depriving himself of all pleasures and comfort. A life of poverty wouldn't have made Logan's efforts any nobler. Bling knew this, just as he knew the source of his sudden superficiality.

He sighed, leaning heavily against one of the wooden room-dividers in a moment of untypical self-incrimination, eyes focused on the spectacular view of nightly Seattle while his weary mind futilely tried to catch up with the still unreal events of the last week. He needed to be fair, couldn't allow the stress and grief cloud his judgment. For all he knew Logan had enough money to allow him a carefree life in a mansion on Hawaii, far away from all the discomfort post-Pulse life meant even for the wealthy – and still, even though nobody seemed to tie him down here, Logan had chosen to stay in the ugly ruins of this formerly beautiful city.

Feeling more balanced after a few minutes of watching the oddly soothing lights outside, Bling took up his stride through the vacant silence again, now calmly assessing the more subtle imprints Logan had left on his space as he took notes for the workers that would make the apartment wheelchair-accessible.

The first thing catching his eye was the office, stuffed with more high-end computer-equipment than he had seen in one place since his days in the navy. The machines and monitors spoke of their owner's vast knowledge and fascination with technology, of his dedication, maybe even obsession, with his work.

The other room that caught Bling's attention, as if it was a counterweight to the office, was the kitchen, clean and shiny but nevertheless seemingly in regular use with enough gadgets, spices and exotic ingredients to make a professional cook envious. Bling smiled, relief and satisfaction tickling the corners of his mouth at discovering the place where Logan had found relaxation and distance from the disheartening responsibility of being Eyes Only.

Stopping his inspection for a moment for a glass of water from the tap, Bling imagined Logan's lanky figure moving easily between counter and stove, cutting vegetables or bending over steaming pots. For whom had he cooked? Had he gone through all the effort just for himself – or had there been somebody who kept him company and breached the quiet solitude with carefree chatting? The only signs of other inhabitants were in the guestroom which still was set up to accommodate the woman and her daughter with whom Logan had been willing to share his personal space, probably introducing the little girl to an unknown world of luxury. Apart from the last weeks, the penthouse apparently had been a lonely place, where, according to the doorman, visitors were a rare event.

With a last, pondering glance back, Bling closed the door behind him, for now leaving the rooms to their eerie stillness. Finally, in the quiet hum of the elevator riding down to his waiting car, Bling added his discovery of a lifeless home to the others pieces of Logan's life, concern growing despite his outwards calm. The notion of leaving the hospital for Logan didn't seem to hold the promising power it had for many other patients, who were welcomed home by the cheer of their children or the loving embrace of a long-missed partner. Bling could very well understand Logan's secretive behavior – after all it was necessary to hide the place where Eyes Only's broadcasts were recorded – and yet, for the man behind the mask, the one who was facing the prospect of a long, difficult recovery, Bling wished he had found something else… maybe a closet with woman's clothes, or a picture-frame on the bedside table filled with the smiling face of a girl…

Logan's apartment, in all its spacious luxury, was a lonely place, just as Logan himself seemed to be a loner. Bling had no way of knowing if this was just Logan's nature – but whether or not he had been an introverted child before his parents died, growing up under the obvious resentment of his aunt and uncle was reason enough to unfold defenses that were strong to kick in even when they weren't needed. Under these circumstances it was no surprise that over the years Logan's self-protection had developed into his maddeningly illogical attitude that being able to help others was a sign of strength while standing on the other side of giving and receiving lessened your worth and dignity. It was an ironic contradiction for the guy who was Eyes Only.

Surely this self-reliant behavior had been an indispensable shield against the barbs and insults of his family, with which Logan seem to avoid any contact. Now, though, it caused him to stubbornly fight any attempts to get past this trusted protective shell, no matter the motives of those who tried to get closer. Not even the trust and friendship Bling earned himself in the many weeks of therapy were enough to gain him any other place in Logan's sparsely populated universe than that of a close observer, near enough to notice the struggles of his charge but too distant to be a real support.

By the time Logan was released from the hospital, Bling grudgingly accepted his unhealthy way of dealing, resigned to the knowledge that he could neither force Logan to talk nor erase the erratic imprints of decades of mistrust with a simple snap of his fingers… and yet, even his endless patience was put to the test by the strained expression of despondent exhaustion marking Logan's face in unobserved moments. He was smart enough, though, to hide his worries under the calm, untroubled appearance that over the years had become his trademark, well aware that Logan, in his own crazy thinking, would feel mothered to see them, probably even diminished, as if the simple caring of a friend would turn him into a guy who was unable to take care of himself.

All he could do was to unobtrusively show Logan that he cared – by encouraging words when a long day's research resulted in nothing but strained eyes and a headache, by a gentle clap on his shoulder when a straining workout seemed fruitless to his ever impatient patient, by his repeated offers of a game of basketball or just an evening's beer with a friend.

And still… Bling couldn't help but wonder whether just waiting and watching until Logan was ready to open up was the right thing to. From his doubly-troubling position of friend and therapist, he worriedly observed how, in typical self-neglect, Logan burdened himself with the crazy impossibility of righting every wrong, so much did he dread the enormous torrent of doubt and questions, self-incrimination and bitterness that even a little moment of rest would trigger.

Bling worried, cared, observed…. and sometimes, when he saw how his friend bottled up all that frustration, anger and hopelessness, he found himself fearing the inevitable moment when all that pressure would burst Logan's brittle armor of 'I'm fine' and catapult him to a place where the deceptively easy temptation of suicide was dangled before his face as the promise of eternal peace.

……To be continued (I think)…..


	2. Prodigy

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

**A/N**: Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter, and also a huge thanks to Shywr1ter for betaing and suggestions:-)

The chapters of this story aren't going to be connected by a successive plotline – after all we all know what happened in S1;-) – but will just show some events from Bling's perspective.

In this chapter it is the moment in 'Prodigy' when he spots Logan on the roof of the 'Steinlitz' together with Darius's men.

(Also, in case anybody cares, I really do intend to update my other stories, most of them have at least half-written new chapters)

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**Street in front of the Steinlitz hotel, 8:30 PM**

Logan. The guy up there on the ledge of the hotel roof, whose armpits were gripped forcefully by two of the terrorists, was Logan. Forcefully digging his short-cut fingernails into his palm, Bling stared up at the small, grey figure, squinting in his effort to make out any details against the dark sky. He didn't want to believe what he saw, wanted to be wrong – but there was no doubt. It was Logan. There was the black jacket which he had carelessly put on only a few hours before, impatient to get to the hotel, the blond, spiky hair, the way he suddenly came into sight as if lifted up from a seated position… it all confirmed with unmistakable, sickening clarity that the man who was going to die in mere seconds indeed was his friend. The terrorists were making good on their threat to kill another hostage, lashing out at the one person who'd promised to get their message out.

It wasn't fair.

Bling wanted to run, to sprint up the many stairs to Logan… but he couldn't. He was paralyzed by the thought that that he would never reach him in time, petrified by the knowledge that he could do nothing but watch how Logan was balanced up there, so close to falling to his death.

Like all the others who had crowded in front of the Steinlitz, Bling's gaze was fixed on the scene playing out over his head, the safe, unshakable ground under his feet triggering a nauseating guilt that soon spiked up to a sharp self-recrimination. All he could do was to hope that the men would reconsider, that something would happen, that Logan could talk them out of this…

But this was no fairytale. There would be no miracle for Logan, no life-saving superhero coming to the rescue of the guy who had saved so many lives himself.

It was his fault, his failure that Logan had gone in there alone, without backup.

He had tried in vain to make Logan see that trading himself in was close to suicide… and all along had known that for him there were worse things than to die as a hero saving a dozen lives. After months of observation, Bling had been well aware that it was pointless to argue when it came to his friend's convictions, even more so if Max was involved… but he'd tried anyway. How could he have not?

But of course Logan, with his dammed mix of reason and dedication, had just dismissed his worries and offer to accompany him with grateful stubborness, correctly pointing out that he alone had the questionable trust of Darius, and that taking anybody else along would only endanger the hostages. The soldier in Bling couldn't help but admire Logan's braveness, his ability to negotiate with Darius… his instincts as a bodyguard, his affection and loyalty as a friend however had made him want to scream at Logan not to be a fool.

In the end Logan had gone in alone, with bold, confident strokes wheeling himself into the arms of those to whom a human life was worth nothing at all. He left Bling – the bodyguard, the soldier, the one who should be at the front – behind, going crazy with waiting and imagining all the things that could happen to an untrained civilian in a wheelchair when bullets started to fly.

Bling's more sensible side knew that, short of physical violence, he couldn't have stopped Logan…. yet right now, as he stared up at the roof, the aching stiffness in his neck a fitting punishment for not protecting his friend properly, all his rational knowledge wasn't able to make him feel any better. He had failed, and there was nothing he could do now to make up for his mistake.

It was too late.

He could do nothing but observe how the men released their hold on Logan's arms with a sudden, careless movement as if he was a worthless piece of garbage, something that been used up and was now discarded.

Logan didn't cry out, didn't do anything, he just glided through the air as if this was only a bad dream, as if he would wake up in a moment to emerge from his bedroom, as cranky and obsessed as ever. He fell and fell, with every second coming closer to the ground, his body looking strong and healthy and nothing like the sickeningly crushed form of Dr. Tanaka they both had seen on the pavement only a few hours before.

Bling wanted nothing so much than to look away, not to see Logan die. It had been bad enough to see Peter die on the screen… but at least it hadn't happened directly in front of his eyes, leaving him unable to help, unable to do anything at all but to be one of the cruelly sensation-hungry crowd.

He didn't want to watch – but how could he look away when the man there falling to his death wasn't merely some stranger but Logan, his boss, his friend, the person he had vowed to protect? What kind of a friend would he be if he wasn't strong enough to stand this sight when maybe in this moment Logan's dying eyes searched for him in the mass of gaping people, hoping to see a familiar face in the last seconds of his life?

Bling's eyes were so fixed on Logan that he missed the slim figure throwing itself of the roof at first, gliding through the air with the easy grace of a practiced diver.

Max.

For a terrifying split-second Bling thought that she had gone crazy, was sacrificing herself for the man who no doubt meant so much more to her than she would ever admit. Then, with a weakening jolt of relief, he registered the rope around her waist, securing her in her drop toward the bone-crushing pavement.

For the first time in the seconds, minutes or whatever time he had been standing here with the thought of having to bury another friend, Bling allowed himself to relax a bit. If there was anybody who could pull off such a neck-breaking operation it was Max. With a reawakened, growing hope, he took in how Max flew through the cold Seattle night as if this was only a simple, harmless exercise, nothing to worry about at all. Finally her hand connected with Logan's to draw him close into the safety of her embrace, eliciting a shared groan of relief from the watching crowd. A second later they crashed through the hotel's window front, escaping from their view to leave a mass of stunned people that staring at the empty sky long after the spectacle was over.

Finally averting his eyes from the sky, Bling allowed himself a short moment of letting his mind catch up with the alleviating, happy feeling flooding through him. It was an emotion that soon was disturbed by a whole series of what-if-scenarios: Logan being hurt by his forceful crash through the window, the glass severing a major blood vessel, injured by the impact on whatever was on the inside…

Shaking off his morbid fears, Bling turned around to scan the stunned faces around him for that of the commander of the hostage rescue team. He wasn't willing to wait until the military found the time to get Logan out of the hotel, not while the building was swarming with Darius's men eager to finish their job on their escaped victim. As he spotted him in a heated discussion with Matt Sung, Bling felt his mind slip into soldier-mode, replacing his worries with a tactical analysis of how to convince the commander to let him enter the hotel on his own. Finally there was something he could do.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer**_: I still don't own Dark Angel.

_**Huge thanks to Shywr1ter**_ for making this sound better, fishing out odd words and very patiently putting up with a well-tended herd of stupid, little mistakes. All remaining mistakes are due to my inability to discipline them.

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In his years in the hospital Bling had dealt with many kinds of patients, was used to a variety of reactions to the injuries and illnesses that required his help. There were the people who considered their time with him a necessary evil and saw him merely as another part of the inconveniences with which they had to put up now, or there were those others who shared their life stories with him, making him not only the therapist for their physiological but for their emotional needs as well.

And still, despite his experience and outward calm, there still were those patients that really challenged Bling, the ones with whom he couldn't just go home and enjoy his evening – in short people like Logan Cale.

As so often, Logan was hard to assess, his status as patient and friend, employer, admired local hero and object of worry making it impossible to find a sane amount of professional distance. His attitude to their therapy sessions oscillated from dull resignation or absentmindedness to driven, almost angry overachieving that seemed to be fueled by the secret hope of getting back his legs.

Sometimes, when he almost had to drag a reluctant Logan from his office onto the therapy table, where any attempt of starting a conversation was stifled by Logan's gloomy, empty-eyed gaze, Bling thoughts drifted off with that disturbing question always lingering in the back of his mind: what would have happened if someone else had taken his job with Logan, someone who didn't know about Eyes Only and couldn't have helped to revive his vision of making the world a better place? What if the other therapist had been less resolute, less experienced in the tricky art of balancing between understanding and not tolerating self-pity?

Who knew what would have become of Logan if he were left to his own devices… In all likelihood he would have locked himself into the ivory tower of his penthouse, with nothing to do and alone with the depressing thought of how useless he was now.

Isolation would have come almost naturally with nobody waiting for him to come home, no family needing his love and attention, no friends expecting him to rejoin them for their normal activities. There would have been no job forcing him to go out and socialize, his only reason to leave the apartment the occasional check-ups at the hospital. Maybe, even, he would have spared himself the stares that came with the wheelchair by having everything delivered to his door.

In eerie stillness Logan would have sat by the windows, the glassy barrier separating him from the dizzying edge that now seemed so alluring. Ignoring his altered silhouette, he would have stared down at the city below where life took place without him, not for an hour or two as he sometimes did now after a long day of work, but from morning to evening, caught in a numb cloud of sadness.

Possibly he would have caught himself, something perforating his lethargy and piquing the interest of the old Logan he'd managed to stifle almost completely.

Or perhaps his days just would have continued to be a demonstration of his indifference for life, just barely resisting the baiting thought of bringing it to an end.

Would he still be alive? Maybe… if in this parallel universe Max had decided to come back, giving in to the mutual fascination that lured them both out of their familiar surroundings.

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Knowing how difficult the first weeks after the shooting had been for Logan, how he was still struggling with his new reality, Bling registered all his little accomplishments with a deep, reassured satisfaction that was only faintly displayed in his calm smile.

There was the evening when Logan shot his first winning basket, his face glowing with exertion and pure, innocent triumph that was so different from the grim satisfaction of a successful Eyes Only case.

Seated among the cheering mass of family and neighborhood spectators, Bling watched him surrounded by the other team members, celebrating their victory with shoulder-slaps and high fives as their opponents came closer for a second wave of grudging congratulations.

It was that evening that Logan finally gave in to his teammates urging him to join them for an after-game beer and some guy talk, eventually allowing himself to kick back for more than just the short hours of physical exercise.

Then there were the little, everyday things that would have gone unnoticed by someone not around as much as Bling … how Logan gradually reorganized his apartment to his needs in a way that went beyond those most necessary changes Bling had initiated, how he fell into a new, acceptably comfortable routine that allowed him to pass day after day without thinking too much about the past…

And there was the first time Logan cooked dinner for Max. Not just preparing a sandwich when she came back from a mission, or feeding her with leftovers when she sacrificed her lunch hour memorizing building plans for the night's break-in, just asking her over for no other reason than Max herself. No villains to be stopped, no orphans to be rescued, merely an evening together with its single purpose to relax from being Eyes Only and his genetically enhanced side kick.

It wasn't like Bling had been told any of this freely. As always, it had been more a matter of calm observation and tactical questioning that confirmed his feeling that something was going on when he found Logan in the kitchen, wearing a smug little smile that was a bit too bright for the rather unpleasant task of disemboweling a chicken.

Putting down the new set of dumbbells he'd found on the market, Bling noticed that the counter was covered with fresh bundles of spices, creamy-white cotton napkins and matching placemats, all seeming a bit over the top for just one person.

He was sure that something was going on when Logan fixed him with a short, suspiciously disinterested glance from the corner of his eye. Nodding to the upper cupboard where the less frequently used items were stowed, he addressed Bling with an as yet unvoiced request, his tone of overly casual. "Could you please get down two of those wine glasses in there? And there should be silver candlesticks, too."

Bling hid his pleased grin at the novel combination of wine and candles by turning his back to Logan, but not before confirming with a quick glance at the bottle that Logan finally seemed to have found an opportunity to take advantage of his well-filled wine rack.

Reaching into the cabinet for the requested items, Bling started the prodding, for the moment ignoring Logan's wordless attempt of distracting him with a bowl of homemade mousse au chocolat. "Anything special today? Is Max coming over for that break in you planned for the major's office?"

The only answer was an unintelligible grunt, Logan using the necessary concentration on his knife, chopping at an impressive speed, as a handy excuse for not answering.

Not impressed by Logan's taciturnity, Bling continued, his even voice not yet giving away that he'd figured out the reason for all the effort long before. "You know, I don't have any plans for the evening… I could stay as a backup if you want me to."

Logan's only reply was a short, polite "No, thanks", eyes not even leaving his work, as if he hoped that simple ignoring Bling would stop the nosy questioning.

Of course Bling wasn't that easily distracted. Giving his friend a quick, scrutinizing look, he decided that a bit more teasing was safe. Over the last months he had learned to read Logan, to see the the signs that preceded annoyed snapping or that state of lost melancholy when he'd accidentally touched a forbidden topic.

Now, however, there was none of it, just fidgeting nervousness interfering with the self-assured calm usually characterizing Logan in the kitchen.

So Bling tried once more, now lending his voice the tiniest trace of cool amusement. "Are you sure you won't need me?"

With an exaggerated sigh Logan gave in, putting down the knife to give Bling a long-suffering look, conveying that he knew his trainer's game perfectly well. "No, thanks, Bling, really won't be necessary. Unless I cut off a finger because someone", his look became even more pointed, "keeps distracting me, I'll just have a quiet evening at home and…" A short pause, then the crucial point came out, a flicker of insecurity replacing the grouchiness, "invite Max for dinner…You know, as a way to thank her for all her help…"

As he trailed off, Logan's tone changed from mild petulance into self-conscious mumbling, as if suddenly questioning his sanity for doing something as unmistakably non-work, even as potentially flirtatious as a candle light dinner. And even though moments earlier he had wished Bling to be anywhere but here, now he watched his trainer's face as if it could tell him what Max would think of such an offer.

Bling's pleased grin was gentle enough not to increase Logan's already acute awkwardness, but still gave him the needed confirmation. "About time. Girl might have started to think that you only keep her around as a handy tool for your save the world plans."

With a short shrug of indignation, Logan went back to his work, his pondering frown showing clearly that with his own obsession in denying and defining the exact extent of his growing affection, he'd been too preoccupied to think about Max's perspective.

Once more observing observed the calming effect cooking had on Logan, Bling suppressed a wistful smile at the thought that maybe he just should have taken Logan down to the hospital's kitchen in those early, difficult days when the whole world had seemed bleak and hopeless.

Today though, his usually peaceful kitchen-demeanor was rattled by an unusual edginess, displayed a bit more openly now that his plans were in the open. It all confirmed Bling's suspicion that something must have happened to dare Logan, who had been blind to the nurses' flirtations in hospital, into steering his work-only relationship with Max onto another level.

Maybe, Bling pondered as he finally dipped his spoon into the sof chocolate cream, all this was the result of that evening last week.

_As he made his way up to Logan for a late training session__, he encountered Max just coming out of the Penthouse, a thick envelope in her hand and a pleased, thoughtful smile on her face. Now curious, Bling went in to find Logan wearing the same expression, which evened out only slightly at seeing his trainer. _

_In a voice of uncharacteristic adventurousness Logan told him about the day's events, how in only a few weeks he'd found the woman from Max's past for whom she'd searched for years, how Max had ignored his warnings in bold stubbornness, the narrow escape accomplished with his help…_

As concerned as Bling still was to know that Lydecker had been so close, as relieved as he'd been to hear that Max was well, he couldn't help but think that this mission had been exactly what Logan needed. Ever since restarting Eyes Only, he had restricted himself to desk work, so far lacking the self-confidence and opportunity to test how far a wheelchair and street investigations were compatible. All his work had been done in abstract anonymity, Eyes Only's mask protecting him from his enemies, but also from the thanks of those whom he'd helped. Now he had Max's gratitude, her mere presence a perpetual reminder of his success.

The triumph of having tricked a well-organized unit of soldiers without even leaving his office, the fact that it had been his abilities, equipment and quick thinking that had saved Max and Hannah, had been enough to give Logan a boost of confidence that no pep-talk could have ever achieved. The lingering high of the mission had brought the realization that he could help Max like nobody else could, could fool her pursuers and help her find her siblings.

With the last spoonful of chocolate Bling returned his attention to his surroundings which still looked like the textbook preparations of an elaborate dinner scene. It seemed that the idea of asking Max over, just like that, had been going around in Logan's head for some time, finally realized in the aftermath of his success.

Declining Logan's offer for another round of mousse, Bling stood up to go, still faintly smirking with the knowledge that, today, he wasn't needed around here.

xxxxxxx To be continued xxxxxxxx


	4. Red'

_**Disclaimer**_: I still don't own Dark Angel.

_**A/N: **_Monster apple-sized thanks to **Shywr1ter** for the thorough betaing, suggestions and letting me borrow from her Bling story_**'Still Waters'**_ where he and Logan's bodyguard from the Pilot, Peter, were friends. All remaining mistakes are mine.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Once he told Logan to scream.

It was an early evening, chilly and wet outside and, coming from an afternoon of running errands all over the city, Bling felt himself relax in the dry warmth of the penthouse.

The apartment was quiet, the dim, sparse light adding to the atmosphere of calm, undisturbed concentration that was so characteristic of the many hours Eyes Only spent with dull research.

Finding the kitchen and the living room empty, Bling approached the office with careful steps, just in case Logan was just preparing another Eyes Only broadcast. And there he was, with his back to Bling, gazing up into the flickering lights of his little TV set, fingers tight around the remote control.

The monotone whirring of the video recorder was the only sound filling the room, letting Bling assume that the tape was a private one, maybe a happy memory of Logan with his parents, those two people of whom he hardly ever talked, of whom there wasn't a single photo anywhere in the penthouse. In the doorframe Bling stopped, not wanting to startle Logan from his complete oblivion of his surroundings.

Then, there on the screen Peter was hit by a staccato of bullets, collapsing onto the pavement – dead immediately as Bling had learned later from the medical reports, which coolly listed the damage done by the impacting metal. He had forced himself to read them, just as he had forced himself to go down to the mortuary and see the body of his friend, cold and still on the metal surface. He had needed the harsh confirmation that Peter's death wasn't just a TV show, that he really wouldn't come over tomorrow for their morning run, a good-tempered grin on his lips despite the early hour.

The instant he'd recognized the video, Bling had instinctively closed his eyes, reacting in

an subconscious attempt to block out those pictures. It didn't help. He didn't need to rewatch them, just seeing the beginning sequence had been enough for his brain to start an automatic replay of this sequence of death and terror. He didn't need the tape to relive that day. It had been in his dreams ever since he had seen the news report for the first time: Logan and Peter trying to run into safety while already the guns were aimed at them in inevitable precision, making Bling wish that he had been there to stop them, to throw himself in front of Peter, of Logan, to save Sophie from the trauma of being kidnapped.

But there was Peter going down and Sophie being pried forcefully from the deceiving safety of Logan's arms, leaving him helpless on the ground, his mind not yet able to grasp his new reality of pain and numbness.

For a moment Bling considered giving in to his sudden urge to be alone now, to just turn around and walk away as silently as he had come. But then there was Logan, seemingly unable to break the morbid fascination, reliving that moment over and over again.

Bling suspected that Logan dreamed about that day too, that Eyes Only's never ending work and responsibility wasn't the only motive keeping him up long past midnight or had him already at his computers early in the morning, looking like he had given up the idea of restful sleep in the middle of the night.

Bling could only guess why Logan had decided to drag those moments into broad daylight. Possibly he was trying to watch the tape so often that the pictures lost their cruel meaning and became a movie sequence like any other, as meaningless and impersonal as every other news report.

With Logan, however, Bling suspected it was some kind of punishment, a way of torturing himself with the day of his failure as if he'd deserved it. Whatever it was though, Bling couldn't just stand there and watch calmly how Peter's death was repeated over and over again. Taking a deep calming breath, he forced himself to move forward, another sharp stab of sadness reminding him that this was the past, gone and over. Peter was dead, Logan had survived and he was the one who quite obviously lived against his eternal mantra of 'I'm fine' right now. It was Logan who needed him now.

Finally feeling composed enough to start conversation without showing how much it affected him, Bling voiced his earlier thoughts with calm concern. "Most people watch home videos to remember the good times."

Logan's answer came, trance-like, in his morbid fascination not even averting his eyes from the screen to acknowledge the other man's presence. "It's like it happened to someone else...That is definitely me."

And even though having wished only moments ago that Logan had never gotten the video, something in his voice made Bling think that maybe this wasn't only the self-destroying act it seemed to be on first sight. Perhaps Logan was trying to grasp the immense changes which that day had brought, needed to see his old self once more to remind him, as painful as it was, that this part of his life was irrecoverably over. Maybe his inability to identify with the person on the screen signaled something like acceptance of his new reality, meant that he had moved on, leaving the traumatizing experience of the shooting behind.

Yet even with his new possibilities Bling couldn't help but question Logan's motives, fearing it might be too early for him to relieve those events without being pulled down. It was this sentiment that colored his voice with mild reproach. "Do you really need to put yourself through this?"

And for a moment their conversation seemed to be moving in the right direction as Logan's voice took a musing tone, still fixing the screen. "And the shooter was Bruno Anselmo."

Outwardly unfazed, Bling nevertheless felt a strange relief upon hearing Logan mentioning Anselmo's name, breaking the disinterested nonchalance Logan had displayed ever since learning that the man responsible for his paralysis was alive. As he sat down heavily in the desk chair, Bling thought that anything was better than this inappropriate placidity. That strange calm had been there ever since Anselmo had invaded Logan's privacy as if the shooting had never happened, without showing any sign of real regret expecting to be under Logan's private protection. "You're a better man than me. Sticking your neck out for the man who did this to you."

"We have a situation in the here and now. That's all that matters." Logan's voice had become neutral and distant, showing how he'd managed to label Bruno to be just another case.

Feeling that he'd lost whatever opportunity there had been to touch the taboo topics of the shooting and Eyes Only's self-neglecting altruism, Bling slightly changed his approach. "How'd you get this videotape, anyway?"

It wasn't so much the tape's origin in which Bling was interested, much more he wanted to know how much effort Logan had put into getting it, whether he'd actively searched for it or just stumbled upon it accidentally when researching something else.

Logan's answer came without thinking, carrying a disillusioned bitterness that was new. "Money. What else have I got?"

It was the first time Bling heard him refer to his privileged financial status not with a certain gratitude, but with the resigned bitterness of someone who had given up. Now seriously concerned, Bling took the remote control from Logan's hand, his voice intensifying in the hope to get through. "Man, you gotta scream a little or you're going to explode."

Screaming, a temper tantrum or even a little explosion, anything would be better than this tightly controlled nonchalance. But it wouldn't happen. Logan's answer was exactly the one Bling expected, dismissing the idea of personal revenge as ineffective for reaching the higher goal of saving the world. Retreating to the impersonal level of his alter ego, he lectured on the unimportance of Bruno's past actions, sounding as if he needed to convince himself as much as Bling.

Sometimes, Bling thought as Logan claimed the remote back with the coolly irritated voice of someone dismissing a younger sibling, he feared losing Logan to Eyes Only, the artificial identity still offering the control and validation that seemed to be impossible now as Logan Cale.

Bling could do nothing but stand up to leave, even though he just wanted to take Logan by the shoulders, drive him to the safe house and make him scream out all his pent-up anger and frustration at Bruno.

Standing in the door frame again, Bling looked back at his friend, sitting in the same position as before, just as if their conversation hadn't happened. Logan's expression was grimly blank, focused as if he could continue watching for hours, becoming more and more numb with every time Peter died anew, with each time he saw himself going down.

Calm, never screaming, never crying.

But who knew whether Logan didn't scream, didn't cry when he was alone at night, when there was nobody to witness his weakness...

xxxxxxxxx to be continued… xxxxxxx


End file.
